The plane slowly landed. Felix Fan raised his hand, smiling as two flight attendants pulled him back to his seat. Throughout, he kept turning toward us, listening as I spoke about the prophetic dream I’d had.
"Something like that happened?"
We finally exited the airport, and I immediately searched for the Underworld Agent who was supposed to pick us up. To my surprise, the Underworld Agent was a woman. I stared at her, stunned.
"What is it, Master? Is there something on me?"
I forced an awkward smile. What surprised me even more was that Snowridge Springs was nothing like I’d imagined—far from bustling, it was almost deserted now.
"Why?"
I looked in surprise at the Agent driving us. She sighed and spoke.
"People say they’ve seen ghosts there. Over time, no one dares to go anymore. But we’ve investigated—there’s not even a trace of a ghost. Most of the hotels have already shut down."
In my dream, Snowridge Springs was packed with cars along the roads. But now, as we drove there, I realized there weren’t even ghosts on the road, let alone cars.
"Maybe it wasn’t a prophetic dream after all."
My father muttered in confusion, but Felix Fan just laughed.
"Maybe it really was a prophetic dream, just not a normal one. There are variables. If you don't mind me asking, Rachel Lan, how old are you this year?"
I let out a surprised sound, stumbling over my words. After a long pause, I finally answered.
"Thirty-four..."
"Tell the truth."
After a long moment, I finally spoke.
"Thirty-five, almost thirty-six."
"Be specific."
I glared furiously at Felix Fan beside me.
"Just a few days until thirty-six. Satisfied now?"
"A number that adds up to nine—no wonder, that’s unlucky."
Fuming, I jabbed my elbow at Felix Fan. He clutched his stomach, laughing, but I knew he’d dodged it.
"Jinx."
My dad turned around from the front passenger seat and slapped his forehead.
"I almost forgot—your birthday is in a few days."
I grinned, giving my dad a sideways glare.
"Seriously, how can a father forget his own daughter’s birthday? What kind of parent are you?"
"The so-called 'nine returns to one'—for ordinary people in the Living World, it doesn’t mean much. But for those of us in the supernatural arts, a number that adds up to nine always brings disaster. If I’m not mistaken, Ethan Zhang was twenty-seven when he faced a major upheaval in his life. This ‘number of breaking the boundary’ means when water is full, it spills; when the moon is full, it wanes. Nine is the ultimate Yang number. Especially with your current Yang Fire body, it’s extremely dangerous."
I immediately recalled how, lately, my parents kept urging me to rest at home and not go out, always insisting I needed more rest.
"Are you hiding something from me again?"
I grabbed my dad by the back of his collar. He turned around, chuckling.
"Your mother and I have been worried about this. We both went through disasters with numbers that add up to nine. In the supernatural arts, most people avoid those numbers, and usually prepare themselves before reaching that age. To put it simply, the power in your body has already reached its limit—so in a few days, things will be dangerous."
Even the Underworld Agent driving the car spoke up—she had just turned thirty-one this year, and at twenty-seven, she’d faced disasters too. That whole year was unlucky, and the worst was nearly being devoured by an evil ghost. She barely escaped with her life.
"Is that why Underworld Denizens must collect 9,999 souls in their lifetime?"
I asked, and my dad nodded.
"But disaster isn’t guaranteed. Many in the supernatural arts break through during these numbers. That’s what happened to me."
"Whatever. We’ll deal with it when the time comes."
I stared out the window at the fleeting scenery. In just half an hour, we arrived at Snowridge Springs. The river before us was nothing like the dazzling scene in my dream—everything was pitch-black, barely visible, except for a few faint hotel lights in the distance. There were hardly any cars in the parking lot outside town, but then I realized something was off. When my dad booked the hotel before, it took him half an hour to find one.
"What’s going on, Dad? Wasn’t it really hard to book a hotel last time?"
The Agent driving the car laughed.
"Most hotels here use this as a marketing trick. Their websites always show ‘fully booked,’ but after you reserve, they call you later to say there’s actually space. This place is abandoned now. Many tourists claim they’ve seen ghosts—some were so frightened they lost their minds."
After we got out of the car, I looked at the pitch-black river nearby. It didn’t seem haunted at all. After all, the Underworld Denizens and Underworld Agents had already cleared out the ghosts everywhere—any that were caught got sent straight to Hell for forced labor. These days, it’s rare to see a ghost in the Living World. Some ghosts even go into hiding to avoid being captured—nobody wants to end up as a laborer in Hell.
The road by the river was deserted, nothing like the scene in my dream. The hotel ahead was dark, and when the owner saw us, he kept explaining that this was all he could do—people say the place is haunted, so no one comes anymore. He swears he’s never seen a ghost, and says he’s hired masters to perform rituals. They all claim there are no ghosts here.
I didn’t bother with small talk and went straight to my room. I used to hate coming here—the crowds were unbearable, too noisy for me. Now it was empty and cold, not a soul in sight, let alone a ghost.
Thinking of the comfort of soaking in the hot springs in my dream, I quickly washed up and slipped into the pool outside my room. It was just as relaxing and quiet as I’d imagined. After a short soak, I got out and went to the next room—sure enough, my dad and Felix Fan were playing chess. I checked the time; it matched what I’d seen in my dream.
I was still puzzled about why I’d had such a dream. Later, I went to the front desk and asked the owner if there was any food. He said yes, and had his wife bring out the grill so I could barbecue at the entrance.
"Boss, what’s the story behind all these ghost rumors? What legends are there, really?"
I asked, and the owner sighed, looking uneasy.
"There are many stories. It all started last year. The busy season here is November through March, though some come in summer too. But most visitors say they’ve seen ghosts, and some were so scared they lost their minds. Even skeptics left in a hurry the next morning, claiming they’d seen ghosts and hadn’t slept all night. I’ve checked several times when guests said they saw ghosts, but there was never anything there."
I stared at the owner’s forehead—shiny, with no trace of foul energy. Once the fire was going, his wife brought over some sliced vegetables.
After a while, I went to call my dad, but he and Felix Fan were completely absorbed in their chess game, saying they'd eat later.
The owner kindly helped grill the food. I wandered along the river, recalling his stories: guests being dragged from their beds at night, some swearing their legs were pulled while they slept, others scalded in the shower when someone suddenly turned up the hot water.
Some woke up by the river in the morning, others in the forest behind the hotel, and a few saw ghostly figures in the bathroom. The stories sounded like ghosts' mischief, but there weren’t any ghosts here. Honestly, what kind of ghost would bother playing tricks on tourists? Prosperity is good for ghosts—they have food and drink. Even ghosts avoid deserted places.
After a while, the owner called me back. I stopped by to get my dad and Felix Fan, but they were still playing chess, clearly not planning to come out. I went over and kicked them.
But Felix Fan instantly grabbed my foot.
"Everything’s ready. Go eat, you two."
Felix Fan immediately shook his head.
"Don’t touch the board. You think we’re just playing chess, but actually we’re..."
"Save the nonsense. Hurry up."
My dad snapped impatiently. Only then did I notice the chessboard—it looked ancient, the edges worn, black and white pieces chipped from years of use.
"Eat slowly, daughter. Go to bed early when you’re done."
I stomped out, frustrated. Alone in this place, eating barbecue late at night by myself, I sighed and poured a small cup of wine. Staring at the distant river, I could only make out the outline of the mountains under the pitch-black sky.
"No, those two are definitely hiding something from me."
I stood up, intending to go back inside. That’s when I noticed the hotel was empty—the owner and his wife were gone. I called out, but no one answered. Something felt off, a chill crept over me. I took a sip of wine.
Suddenly, I turned my head. Out on the river, something moved. I ran over, searching for a place to stand, but there was nowhere. I spread my flaming wings and flew over, landing on the ice. There, I saw someone dressed in white.
"Who are you?"